When he came to Vietnam in 2001 after retiring from the military, he was a tourist, but also on a mission of delivering gifts from a French veteran association to an orphanage in the Mekong Delta province of Dong Thap.

The Frenchman was stricken by the plight of the abandoned children. After the three-month trip, he returned to his home, Arras in Northern France, and interned with a volunteer organization engaged in humanitarian activities around the world.

“My volunteering experience with some NGOs did not satisfy me. I did not really find my place. Very often, a volunteer is given a specific task and has very little or no involvement in projects or decision-making,” said Muynck, whose friends call him Minh.

During his first years in Vietnam, Muynck initiated several different projects, from helping upgrade a nursery in his residential neighborhood in Ho Chi Minh City which was often flooded during torrential rains, to building houses for poor people in the southern province of Dong Nai.

The projects were conducted in cooperation with humanitarian organizations or his friends, acquaintances and even tourists who donated medicines, school stationeries, and toys.

Two years later, he founded the association Les Enfants du Dragon (The Children of the Dragon) with his friend, Bui Huy Lan, a Vietnamese-French dentist based in Northern France, to help poor people and orphans in the Mekong Delta and part of the central region.

With 11 core members, a dozen volunteers, and the support of local governments, other NGOs, and numerous fundraisers, the association tries to meet every need of the needy.

It has built houses, bridges, ensured clean water supply to poor localities, provided scholarships and bicycles, opened free English and French courses for children, supported teacher training projects, supplied walking sticks for the elderly, entertained sick children and organized camping trips for orphans.

Les Enfants du Dragon also runs farms that culture spirulina a kind of nutritious algae usually recommended as food supplement to combat malnutrition and supplies it to orphanages and centers. About one-third of the farms’ output is for sale to generate funds for the association’s activities.

What motivates him is, Muynck said, the smiles of children when they are given gifts like bicycles, and the tears of happiness of a poor family when given a roof above their heads.

“Man can only feel happy when helping people who are less lucky than himself, when bringing joy to kids without parents.”

After 12 years, what does he feel about his work?

“I have not finished my mission yet.”

He said his “foremost” desire now is to carry out the association’s “heart project” an orphanage for about 100 children in the southern province of Long An.

When the project is finished, he will see if he wants to take a short rest, he said.

“But, for now I still have enough energy to help other people. [“¦] There is always more to do, to do better.”

Sweet lifestyle

While most of the association’s core members are French and Swiss nationals living in their own countries, Muynck, despite having his own family in France, is among the few members who are based in HCMC so that they can work directly with local governments, volunteers, and beneficiaries.

“I am retired, and I like the sweetness of the Vietnamese lifestyle, and the southern heat.”

He said one of difficulties he faced at the beginning was building a stable network of volunteers.

Initially lots of people volunteered, but many would also retreat quickly, either because they found the work hard and time-consuming, or because they did not get the recognition they expected from the association’s leaders, and perhaps even more from beneficiaries, he said.

“But, in the end, we managed to form a small but strong and united team of loyal members.”

Currently, there are a dozen of full time volunteers, both Vietnamese and French expats, working with Les Enfants du Dragon.

Occasionally, foreign donors also come to visit their beneficiaries and take part in volunteer work like building houses for the poor, and playing with children they had adopted by providing financial assistance.

These days Muynck is busy checking the progress of construction sites, visiting beneficiary families, attending meetings organized by local authorities, and updating the association’s website and his personal blog to keep members and supporters informed.

He also joins other members in finding partners and donors online.

Dr. Lan, who is in charge of the association’s work in France, said Muynck has done his job “very well,” and thanks to him, Les Enfants du Dragon’s activities are always “transparent.”

Lan, who has always wanted to contribute to his home country, said he has found a kindred spirit.

Harry surprises Ron and Hermione in Hogsmeade with a bit of help from Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs

‘Psst – Harry!’

He turned, halfway along the third-floor corridor, to see Fred and George peering out at him from behind a statue of a humpbacked, one-eyed witch.

‘What are you doing?’ said Harry curiously. ‘How come you’re not going to Hogsmeade?’

‘We’ve come to give you a bit of festive cheer before we go,’ said Fred, with a mysterious wink. ‘Come in here …’

He nodded towards an empty classroom to the left of the one- eyed statue. Harry followed Fred and George inside. George closed the door quietly and then turned, beaming, to look at Harry.

‘Early Christmas present for you, Harry,’ he said.

Fred pulled something from inside his cloak with a flourish and laid it on one of the desks. It was a large, square, very worn piece of parchment with nothing written on it. Harry, suspecting one of Fred and George’s jokes, stared at it.

‘What’s that supposed to be?’

‘This, Harry, is the secret of our success,’ said George, patting the parchment fondly. ‘It’s a wrench, giving it to you,’ said Fred, ‘but we decided last night, your need’s greater than ours.’

‘Anyway, we know it off by heart,’ said George. ‘We bequeath it to you. We don’t really need it any more.’

‘And what do I need with a bit of old parchment?’ said Harry.

‘A bit of old parchment!’ said Fred, closing his eyes with a grimace as though Harry had mortally offended him. ‘Explain, George.’

‘Well … when we were in our first year, Harry – young, carefree and innocent –’

Harry snorted. He doubted whether Fred and George had ever been innocent.

‘– well, more innocent than we are now – we got into a spot of bother with Filch.’

‘We let off a Dungbomb in the corridor and it upset him for some reason –’

‘So he hauled us off to his office and started threatening us with the usual –’

‘– detention –’

‘– disembowelment –’

‘– and we couldn’t help noticing a drawer in one of his filing cabinets marked Confiscated and Highly Dangerous.’

‘Don’t tell me –’ said Harry, starting to grin.

‘Well, what would you’ve done?’ said Fred. ‘George caused a diversion by dropping another Dungbomb, I whipped the drawer open and grabbed – this.’

‘It’s not as bad as it sounds, you know,’ said George. ‘We don’t reckon Filch ever found out how to work it. He probably suspected what it was, though, or he wouldn’t have confiscated it.’

‘And you know how to work it?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Fred, smirking. ‘This little beauty’s taught us more than all the teachers in this school.’

‘You’re winding me up,’ said Harry, looking at the ragged old bit of parchment.

‘Oh, are we?’ said George.

He took out his wand, touched the parchment lightly and said, ‘I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.’

And at once, thin ink lines began to spread like a spider’s web from the point that George’s wand had touched. They joined each other, they criss-crossed, they fanned into every corner of the parchment; then words began to blossom across the top, great, curly green words, that proclaimed:

Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present THE MARAUDER’S MAP

It was a map showing every detail of the Hogwarts castle and grounds. But the truly remarkable thing was the tiny ink dots moving around it, each labelled with a name in minuscule writ- ing. Astounded, Harry bent over it. A labelled dot in the top left corner showed that Professor Dumbledore was pacing his study; the caretaker’s cat, Mrs Norris, was prowling the second floor, and Peeves the poltergeist was currently bouncing around the trophy room. And as Harry’s eyes travelled up and down the familiar corridors, he noticed something else.

This map showed a set of passages he had never entered. And many of them seemed to lead –

‘Right into Hogsmeade,’ said Fred, tracing one of them with his finger. ‘There are seven in all. Now, Filch knows about these four –’ he pointed them out, ‘– but we’re sure we’re the only ones who know about these. Don’t bother with the one behind the mirror on the fourth floor. We used it until last winter, but it’s caved in – completely blocked. And we don’t reckon anyone’s ever used this one, because the Whomping Willow’s planted right over the entrance. But this one here, this one leads right into the cellar of Honeydukes. We’ve used it loads of times. And as you might’ve noticed, the entrance is right outside this room, through that one-eyed old crone’s hump.’

‘Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs,’ sighed George, patting the heading of the map. ‘We owe them so much.’

‘Noble men, working tirelessly to help a new generation of lawbreakers,’ said Fred solemnly.

‘Right,’ said George briskly, ‘don’t forget to wipe it after you’ve used it –’

‘– or anyone can read it,’ Fred said warningly.

‘Just tap it again and say, “Mischief managed!” And it’ll go blank.’

‘So, young Harry,’ said Fred, in an uncanny impersonation of Percy, ‘mind you behave yourself.’

‘See you in Honeydukes,’ said George, winking. They left the room, both smirking in a satisfied sort of way.

Harry stood there, gazing at the miraculous map. He watched the tiny ink Mrs Norris turn left and pause to sniff at something on the floor. If Filch really didn’t know … he wouldn’t have to pass the Dementors at all …

But even as he stood there, flooded with excitement, something Harry had once heard Mr Weasley say came floating out of his memory.

Never trust anything that can think for itself, if you can’t see where it keeps its brain. This map was one of those dangerous magical objects Mr Weasley had been warning against … Aids to Magical Mischief- Makers … but then, Harry reasoned, he only wanted to use it to get into Hogsmeade, it wasn’t as though he wanted to steal any- thing or attack anyone … and Fred and George had been using it for years without anything horrible happening …

Harry traced the secret passage to Honeydukes with his finger.

Then, quite suddenly, as though following orders, he rolled up the map, stuffed it inside his robes, and hurried to the door of the classroom. He opened it a couple of inches. There was no one outside. Very carefully, he edged out of the room and slipped behind the statue of the one-eyed witch.

What did he have to do? He pulled out the map again and saw, to his astonishment, that a new ink figure had appeared upon it, labelled ‘Harry Potter’. This figure was standing exactly where the real Harry was standing, about halfway down the third-floor corridor. Harry watched carefully. His little ink self appeared to be tapping the witch with his minute wand. Harry quickly took out his real wand and tapped the statue. Nothing happened. He looked back at the map. The tiniest speech bubble had appeared next to his figure. The word inside said ‘Dissendium’.

‘Dissendium!’ Harry whispered, tapping the stone witch again.

At once, the statue’s hump opened wide enough to admit a fairly thin person. Harry glanced quickly up and down the corridor, then tucked the map away again, hoisted himself into the hole headfirst, and pushed himself forwards.

He slid a considerable way down what felt like a stone slide, then landed on cold, damp earth. He stood up, looking around. It was pitch dark. He held up his wand, muttered, ‘Lumos!’ and saw that he was in a very narrow, low, earthy passageway. He raised the map, tapped it with the tip of his wand and muttered, ‘Mischief managed!’ The map went blank at once. He folded it carefully, tucked it inside his robes, then, heart beating fast, both excited and apprehensive, he set off.

The passage twisted and turned, more like the burrow of a giant rabbit than anything else. Harry hurried along it, stumbling now and then on the uneven floor, holding his wand out in front of him.

It took ages, but Harry had the thought of Honeydukes to sustain him. After what felt like an hour, the passage began to rise. Panting, Harry sped up, his face hot, his feet very cold.

Ten minutes later, he came to the foot of some worn stone steps which rose out of sight above him. Careful not to make any noise, Harry began to climb. A hundred steps, two hundred steps, he lost count as he climbed, watching his feet … then, without warning, his head hit something hard.

It seemed to be a trapdoor. Harry stood there, massaging the top of his head, listening. He couldn’t hear any sounds above him. Very slowly, he pushed the trapdoor open and peered over the edge.

He was in a cellar which was full of wooden crates and boxes. Harry climbed out of the trapdoor and replaced it – it blended so perfectly with the dusty floor that it was impossible to tell it was there. Harry crept slowly towards the wooden staircase that led upstairs. Now he could definitely hear voices, not to mention the tinkle of a bell and the opening and shutting of a door.

Wondering what he ought to do, he suddenly heard a door open much closer at hand; somebody was about to come downstairs.

‘And get another box of Jelly Slugs, dear, they’ve nearly cleaned us out –’ said a woman’s voice.

A pair of feet was coming down the staircase. Harry leapt behind an enormous crate and waited for the footsteps to pass. He heard the man shifting boxes against the wall opposite. He might not get another chance –

Quickly and silently, Harry dodged out from his hiding place and climbed the stairs; looking back, he saw an enormous backside and a shiny bald head buried in a box. Harry reached the door at the top of the stairs, slipped through it, and found himself behind the counter of Honeydukes – he ducked, crept sideways and then straightened up.

Honeydukes was so crowded with Hogwarts students that no one looked twice at Harry. He edged amongst them, looking around, and suppressed a laugh as he imagined the look that would spread over Dudley’s piggy face if he could see where Harry was now.

There were shelves upon shelves of the most succulent-looking sweets imaginable. Creamy chunks of nougat, shimmering pink squares of coconut ice, fat, honey-coloured toffees; hundreds of different kinds of chocolate in neat rows; there was a large barrel of Every Flavour Beans, and another of Fizzing Whizzbees, the levitating sherbet balls that Ron had mentioned; along yet another wall were ‘Special Effects’ sweets: Droobles Best Blowing Gum (which filled a room with bluebell-coloured bubbles that refused to pop for days), the strange, splintery Toothflossing Stringmints, tiny black Pepper Imps (‘breathe fire for your friends!’), Ice Mice (‘hear your teeth chatter and squeak!’), peppermint creams shaped like toads (‘hop realistically in the stomach!’), fragile sugar-spun quills and exploding bonbons.

Harry squeezed himself through a crowd of sixth-years and saw a sign hanging in the furthest corner of the shop (‘Unusual Tastes’). Ron and Hermione were standing underneath it, examining a tray of blood-flavoured lollipops. Harry sneaked up behind them.

‘Urgh, no, Harry won’t want one of those, they’re for vampires, I expect,’ Hermione was saying.

‘How about these?’ said Ron, shoving a jar of Cockroach Cluster under Hermione’s nose.

‘Definitely not,’ said Harry. Ron nearly dropped the jar.

‘Harry!’ squealed Hermione. ‘What are you doing here? How – how did you –?’

‘Wow!’ said Ron, looking very impressed. ‘You’ve learnt to Apparate!’

’Course I haven’t,’ said Harry. He dropped his voice so that none of the sixth-years could hear him and told them all about the Marauder’s Map.

‘How come Fred and George never gave it to me!’ said Ron, outraged. ‘I’m their brother!’

1.Today we hear expert suggestions for academic writing. Jennifer Ahern-Dodson is an assistant professor of the Practice in Writing Studies at Duke University in North Carolina.

2.Ms. Ahern-Dodson likes to start a discussion with both students and professors planning to write a paper or essay. She asks about their earlier writing experiences. Were they negative or positive?

3.She says you are not alone if you have had problems with your writing. Everyone in struggleswith writing. “Writing is hard. It’s hard for all writers at some point,” she says.

4.”And at some point you are going to hit a roadblock,” she adds. She advises to think about earlier experiences. When the writing is going well, what was happening? When the writing was not going well, what was happening?

5.She says most people’s negative writing experiences happened because a very specific formula or page limit was required.

6.Another problem can arise when the need to do well on a paper is extremely important. Anxiety, she says, can make it harder to get the writing done.

7.Ms. Ahern-Dodson says when writing comes easily, the writers believe they have something important to say. She advises asking yourself questions. Whatinsights can you bring to your paper?

8.Why does this subject matter? What is its importance? For whom is it meaningful? Who will be reading it? You can ease writing by placing your attention on what you have to offer. That, says Ms. Ahern-Dodson, is an important change for all writers.

Some people argue that the oldest pub in London is the White Hart on Drury Lane; others that it is the Angel on Bermondsey Wall, or the Lamb and Flag on Rose Street. All of these people are Muggles, and all of them are wrong. The oldest pub in London, as any wizard will tell you, is the Leaky Cauldron on Charing Cross Road (đường Charing Cross).

The Leaky Cauldron was there long before Charing Cross Road was even planned; its true address is number one, Diagon Alley, and it is believed to have been built some time in the early 1500s, along with the rest of the wizarding street. Created some two centuries before the imposition of the International Statute of Secrecy, the Leaky Cauldron was initially visible to Muggle eyes. While the pub was, from the first, a place for witches and wizards to congregate – whether Londoners or out-of-towners up for the day to shop for the latest magical ingredients or devices – Muggles were not turned away or made to feel unwelcome, even though some of the conversations, not to mention pets, caused many an unwary drinker to leave without finishing his mead.

When the Statute of Secrecy was imposed, the Leaky Cauldron, great British wizarding institution that it had become, was granted special dispensation to continue its existence as a safe haven and refuge for wizardkind in the capital. Though insistent on many powerful spells of concealment, and good behaviour from all who used it, the Minister for Magic, Ulick Gamp, was sympathetic to the need of wizards to let off steam under the difficult new conditions. He further agreed to give the landlord of the day responsibility for letting people into Diagon Alley from his back yard, for the shops beyond the pub were now also in need of magical protection.

To honour Gamp’s protection of the pub, the landlord created a new brand of beer, Gamp’s Old Gregarious, which tasted so disgusting that nobody has ever been known to finish a pint (there is a one hundred Galleon prize to anyone prepared to do so, but nobody has yet succeeded in claiming the gold).

The Leaky Cauldron faced one of its most difficult challenges in the late nineteenth century, with the creation of Charing Cross Road, which ought to have flattened it completely. The Minister for Magic of the day, the tediously long-winded Faris Spavin, gave a melancholy speech in the Wizengamot explaining why the Leaky Cauldron could not, this time, be saved. When Spavin sat down seven hours later, having finished his speech, he was presented with a note from his secretary explaining that the wizarding community had rallied, performed a mass of Memory Charms (some say, to this day, that the Imperius Curse was used on several Muggle town planners, though this has never been proven) and that the Leaky Cauldron had been accommodated in the revised plans for the new road. Certainly, the Muggle architects involved never did understand why they had left a gap in their plans for buildings, nor why that gap was not visible to the naked eye.

The Leaky Cauldron has changed little over the years; it is small, dingy and welcoming, with a few bedrooms above the public bar for travellers who live a long way from London. It is the ideal spot to catch up with wizarding gossip if you happen to live a long way from the nearest magical neighbour.

J.K. Rowling’s thoughts

Charing Cross Road is famous for its bookshops, both modern and antiquarian. This is why I wanted it to be the place where those in the know go to enter a different world.